Webster defines evolution as "a process of continuous change from a lower, simpler, or worse to a higher, more complex, or better state". To think that I started this life as a sort of Dance Mom organic soup seems a little extreme, but I suppose it's true. Anyone who talks to me for two seconds probably knows more about me than they ever wanted, and inevitably will know that I danced for a long time, and still occassionally take dance classes when my body can take it. I love it. I love everything about it: connecting movement to music, choreography, shapes, the inherent beauty of it all. Also, I'm sure this comes as shock to no one who knows me, I love performance, being on stage, the formality of class, the science of movement and perfection of technique. Imagine my absolute delight when my 4-year old, after watching Angelina Ballerina, said "I want to do that." Oh yes! Joy! I immediately made a phone call to my friend Elayne and found out where to send my kid, and she was off. And so was I. Yes, feeling a little self-conscious and out of place, but I got to talk to other adults, other moms. I didn't know other moms, my kid was 4. Maybe some of these people will like me and want to be my friend. This was new, but fun, and I admittedly needed guidance. First rehearsal and recital brought my daughter to tears because someone's costume scared her; she ran out of the wings, out of the building and across the parking lot like Forrest Gump. I didn't know how to handle that, except feel foolish, what are the other moms going to think, and all that. Four years later, her sister followed. Not running into the parking lot, but into the studio.
Things got better. By then, I knew most of the moms, a few by first name, but typically "(insert dancer's name)'s mom". Eventually, you sheepishly ask another mom what "(insert dancer's name)'s mom"'s actual name is. I still do it, because every fall the studio door opens and in comes a new batch of moms. They're not Dance Moms yet, and not all become Dance Moms, that may come later because when your kids are itty bitty, minds and paths can change. So here I was thinking I knew what I was doing... until my first was ten and we joined the echelons of competition teams. Now frankly, "echelons" may be a exaggeration. It wasn't that big of a deal, there's no undue pressure where they were learning their craft. We attended a wonderful studio, every student was valued, nurtured, and almost all invited to a team, which was great for the kids, but now what I perceived as a certain status, "Dance Mom" took on a whole new meaning. (I say perceived, because if you've got a kid who goes on to dance with regularity, well, you're a Dance Mom; it has nothing to do with competing.) I felt like it was kind of a club, and I hoped I was one of that club. I'd see these amazing, seasoned Moms all talking together about competition, and I was as excited as my daughter, but it was immediately clear to me that I was not part of that club. The first competition I showed up at, we weren't as on-time as we were supposed to be, make-up was not up to par, hair was definitely not, and here I was completely inadequate and in over my head. Now I needed to learn ... a lot. I felt like an idiot, even isolated in a way. I wasn't even considering that there were other moms there in the same boat, I was only feeling bad that I was so dumb and incompetent, and my child was there like a deer in headlights. Even though they were rather busy with their girls, more experienced Dance Moms selflessly jumped in to help and so I learned more about how to have competition-appropriate hair and make up. I know stage hair and make-up, but didn't even think about the precision of it for a 10-year old at competition. Did the other Moms make me feel stupid? Absolutely not, I just felt that way, I was embarrassed, and realized that I needed to rely on some of these Dance Moms, and hoped they didn't mind. It was however obvious that socially, I was on the outside. These moms were staying at the hotels, having dinner together, drinks together; I wasn't asked. I literally left like a dejected child, saying good-bye to people who didn't even realize I was leaving. Again, this was just how I secretly felt, and now maybe looking back I didn't try enough to insert myself, try harder to socialize. They just didn't know me at all. This was also the point when I started acutely feeling that I am not supposed to walk around worrying about me, this was about my daughter's experience.
As time went on, I peaked, I guess you could say. Survival of the fittest. After a few years of competitions with not one but two girls, backstage for every recital, at the studio faithfully for every class, I did learn enough to earn (in my own mind) what is "Dance Mom" status. What did that mean to me? It meant having an innate understanding of competition and recital schedules, little tips and tricks for performance supplies, and knowing enough to be able to help the news moms. People came to me, everyone knew my name (mostly), I'm a dance sherpa, helping others surmount the Everest that is the dynamics of, well, everything, because it can all be very overwhelming. I felt great, but tried not to be braggy. Hope I wasn't. It was probably the first I ever felt my own self-worth in this dance world we were all living in. And friends! I had friends! Not just Moms that I see at the studio and we chat, but also good friends. Dance Moms - all we have is each other. We confide a little, give advice, pretty well know each others' lives and families, cautiously tell each other secrets, and sometimes even hang out, at dance events, of course. But we also quickly shut up, and brush it aside, because it's about the kids, and inevitably, it circles back to that.
Now there is this odd Dance Mom dynamic that unconsciously happens. In this Dance Mom life, you don't talk about yourself in a deep meaningful way, because everything centers around your child, and you're almost apologetic about even daring to think of yourself and your difficulties, so pretty much the only way you do it is "the lady doth protest too much". We channel deeper feelings into complaints about, surpise, dance: how many days and hours a week you're at the studio, how many times you drive there, how much your bill is, oh woe is me look at how many costumes I have to buy, and now I need a special suitcase, etc., etc. Guilty. Totally guilty. It's kind of weird really. In reflection, I've come to see that unknowingly there's this ultimate badge of honor that is not something everyone attains, and that's having the kid, or kids, that take every class, is undoubtedly uber-talented, but you never say that, because we want to make sure we respect everyone, and we do. Don't lie - you know it exists. It sounds so negative, but that is never ever the intent. Do we even know we're doing it? Really not. There are the definitely doing it Moms who damn well know they are, but that is nowhere near the majority. It's completely obnoxious when I think about it; so many people don't have the luxury of doing that for their children. We're very fortunate, but sometimes we have to say no to our kids. I did and I looked around me at the Moms who didn't have to, and I felt "less", but I couldn't tell people that. We don't tell each other those things. Why? Because you know deep down in your Dance Mom heart that it is totally, 100%, not about you. No one needs to know, even though they'd understand and support you. You do it for the child who loves it. You encourage and spend a lot of time and money, a lot of times unappreciated, and it wears on you. But you persevere silently and sometimes sadly, because it's not forever.
The year when my oldest graduated seemed like the beginning of a slow death. It was the worst. I was seriously losing my identity, and some of the only social circle I had. When they're gone and I'm still here, what then, who am I? And what the hell am I doing feeling bad for myself? This is HER year. I did my best but it was hard, and I made it hard on my child. I transferred all my sadness to her, and felt like I didn't pay enough attention to her sister. I cried all year long. What is happening to me? I am so lucky to have four more years with her sister. But that's it. Four more years. The idea of not seeing one of my children perform a lot, watching her dance multiple times during the week, feeling that pride, was overwhelming, and I'm depressed and I'm even angry. I was paranoid that I was being judged, and that from this point on, I was pretty much slowly moving to the outside again. I felt like I was being left out of things, not out of anyone's malice, and I am positive no one realized, it was surely just in my head. The next group of Dance Moms didn't need me anymore, neither did new ones. I had 4 more years to go - my then 8th grader didn't dance as fervently as her sister, they have different goals, so it's not the same extent of how many classes, how many competition numbers, how many costumes. I can't do that commiserating anymore, I wasn't at that same sort of level, I could only nod my head in understanding. The next group of kids have Moms who know what they are doing, are younger than I, and are really a little socially closer. Don't get me wrong, they're friends, but their kids are pretty much all the same age, mine is a few years older than they are, so I felt different. Not bad, but different. Natural Selection. I felt downhearted, sometimes lonely, and felt no right to feel like that. I felt I needed to I keep it to myself, and remind myself: it is not about me. Dance is not about me. Dance is not about the Mom.
Here I am four years later and now this year is it. I got to watch my other beautiful daughter perform and have that special time with her, so proud of her, but this is really it, hurtling toward the very end. And you know what? I'm ok. It's kind of like leaving a job, or graduating from school, and you go away, hugs and kisses and "we'll miss you!". You maintain relationships that are important to you. I know this because I've done it already, I kind of had a sort of practice run. The fall starts a new season and nobody will miss me really, they have each other, and that's ok. If at some point someone thinks of me I'll probably be, "hey, remember '(insert dancer's name)'s mom"? Full circle. And I now realize all the feelings I had, all this time. My own genuine feelings which hey! Why didn't I talk about it?! It wouldn't have been selfish to talk about myself, it would have been ok. I would have been listened to by my fellow Dance Moms. I have no doubt about that.
But back to evolution. The question is, have I evolved? Am I more? I think I am. Finally, after 18 years, 18 recitals, at least 48 competitions, and too many costumes and classes to count, I will tell you other Dance Moms this: it is about you. Without you, your child would not be at dance class. Period. And you have every right to be tired, feel however you want to feel about yourself, complain or rejoice, and talk about yourself and your feelings. It's not selfish. Do it! I see you all, I do. I see you start to kvetch, bite your lip, slap on a smile, sigh and stop talking. Talk. Dance Moms take care of each other. People who don't know what it's like ask me if it's like the eponymous TV series, with crazy teachers screaming at students, rabid moms who dress in their finest to go to competitions and also scream at each other, and ridiculous rivalries with other studios. I adamantly tell them it is not, and it gives us a bad name. Despite the occassional snarkiness, one-uppances, hurt feelings, (and don't y'all lie, you know it happens) it is wonderful. We laugh, support each other, care for each other's children, and do for each other like people should do. I will admit that I got into a couple heated exchanges here and there, but otherwise, I've met people I consider to be something I don't have a lot of, and that's friends. Close friends. Now in my old age I give out a lot of unsolicited advice and tell a lot of stories of things that have happened to me, and let myself be annoying, but nobody's ever stopped me, so that's appreciated even if you did it just to be polite. And you should do those things too. It's so much about you. You are more. I am more. I am so fortunate, better off for the experience, maybe even a little wiser, and so grateful for it.
As Jim Morrison said "This is the end, my friend." It's not for me. I can promise you, I will keep all your secrets, I will keep our Dance Mom memories close, you will never be ""(insert dancer's name)'s mom". I will remember all of your names. You are important. It is about you.
